


we could do better

by sunflowerwithfeelings



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Body Paint, Frottage, M/M, Paint Kink, Twister - Freeform, also Peter is a lil art hoe, but only for Peter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-25
Updated: 2018-08-25
Packaged: 2019-07-02 11:57:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15796053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunflowerwithfeelings/pseuds/sunflowerwithfeelings
Summary: Peter pushed the coffee table out of the way to make room for a giant roll of white paper spread across the wood floor. He grabbed his old and messy crate of paint and reached for the back of his shirt, discarding it on the couch.“I have an idea. How do you feel about Twister?”





	we could do better

**Author's Note:**

> lolol this is a stupid idea i’ve had for weeks. also the porn is relatively short but I’m new to writing this so I might make it longer in the future who knows ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

  
Peter had dragged Wade to an art exhibit one of his art colleagues invited him too, neither Peter nor Wade being fans of the artist but for completely different reasons. They wandered around the museum amongst the crowd, looking at painting after painting, nothing wooing Peter and everything confusing Wade.

Wade knew that he’d never get to connect with Peter over any of his interests. Peter was infatuated with complex sciences like advanced chemistry and biology and often spouted off words and terms Wade never knew existed in casual conversations with some of his friends that worked for big companies like Stark Industries. In the opposite way, Peter was also heavily artistic and lived in an abstract and impressionalistic world when it came to art. In fact, that was his focus in college and their apartment is very apparent of that as a giant easel sits in front of the living room window for both aesthetic and conventional purposes.

Wade loves and supports Peter in all of his artistic ventures, but try as he might, he can never understand what his love is doing half the time. Peter can find meaning in brush strokes and color schemes and all Wade sees are colorful lines and a surprisingly high price tag.

Most of the paintings by the featured artist looked a lot like Jackson Pollock ripoff’s, according to Peter who remained unimpressed with the collection the whole time. He muttered insults under his breath, earning a chuckle or a laugh out of Wade who just saw paint on a canvas.

“Can you explain this?” Wade asked as they stopped in from of a piece that was largely black and white, save for the strands of red laced in and out of the paintings lines.

Peter looked at it through his thick rimmed black glasses and gave a tired, critical look. “It’s supposed to evoke sadness or something. All I’m getting is disappointment.”

Wade huffed and squeezed an arm around Peter, his finger looping through a belt loop on the other side of Peter’s pants. “All I see is paint splattered on a canvas.”

Peter turned his head, his nose inches away from Wade’s cheek, his eyes peering above his glasses to lock eyes with Wade. A smirk drew near the edge of his lips. “No, that’s exactly what it is.”

The chaotic pair continued on roasting paintings as they saw them, careful as to not let the damaging words ricochet farther than the airspace of just the two of them. After exchanging kind words with the featured artist, as well as other colleagues of Peter’s, the duo left because ‘oh Mr. Johnson, I’m just so inspired by your work I have to go and create some myself!’

Getting home and immediately stripping himself of his red tie, Wade turned to Peter and said, “babe, I love you, really, but never take me to one of those ever again.”

Peter snorted, “trust me. I wish I would’ve gone myself, you just make things better.”

 

* * *

 

Peter padded across the mahogany floor of the living room into the kitchen, the beeping of the microwave echoing through the small apartment. He carefully grabbed the piping hot leftover rice from a couple nights ago out and placed the container on a paper towel, grabbing a fork, and transporting himself back into the living room.

He plopped down and sat criss-cross in the couch, facing the easel that was now spun around to face him, as the night time sky didn’t provide equal light to that of the day. A creeping unsatisfaction creeped at the back of his mind, something about the picture just wasn’t right. The colors? The pattern? The ambiguity? Something didn’t sit right with him and the feeling began clawing down his back, his body sinking defeatedly into the couch.

The sound of familiar thick, clunking boots came down the hall and around the back of the couch. Wade was home.

“What’s wrong baby boy?” He asked, the rustling sound of his weapons coming from close behind Peter.

Peter gave a groan in response and shoved another spoonful of rice into his mouth, as if that would somehow help his artists block. Firm, bare hands ran through his hair and down his neck, squeezing his shoulders in comfort. The footsteps continued away from him, Wade assumingly went into their bedroom to change his clothes, probably sweat and blood riddled. Next the sound of the shower started. The image of Wade in the shower washing the blood, whether his own or not, formed in Peter’s mind, the red pigment running down the white porcelain tub, swirling down the drain. The thought of Wade naked in general excited Peter but something in the back of his mind jumped, the rice abandoned on the coffee table and Peter running excitedly to Wade who hopefully wasn’t in the shower yet.

“Wade, how bloody are you tonight?” Peter asked, walking into the bathroom catching Wade taking off his socks.

Wade looked himself up and down, “relatively moderate.”

Peter smiled and grabbed his wrist, Wade whining about how his left sock still wasn’t off yet. “Why? Peter,” He laughed, “what is it?”

When they re-entered the living room, Peter pushed the coffee table out of the way to make room for a giant roll of white paper spread across the wood floor. He grabbed his old and messy crate of paint and reached for the back of his shirt, discarding it on the couch.

“I have an idea. How do you feel about Twister?”

“I don’t understand,” Wade admitted.

Peter cracked a smile, “Just answer the question!”

“It’s a fine game, I don’t really have an opinion on it.”

“What if it involved us naked and-” Peter wasn’t able to get through his sentence without Wade just as excited as he was, eagerly stripping Peter down and finally taking off his left sock. Wade left to go turn off the shower and find a spinner he was certain they had while Peter picked out the colors and mixed them, putting them all on individual palettes even if they would run together later. He appreciated the momentary organization.

 

* * *

 

Wade had red paint smeared down most of his chest, two blue hand prints on his hips from ten minutes ago. His cheek was purple, as well as patches on Peters thighs. Peter was on his hands and feet, in the position to crab walk. Wade’s hands were on the paper on either side of Peter’s torso, his legs positioned like that of an olympic trackstar. Peter spun the spinner.

“Right foot, green.”

Wade made his move and inched his face closer to Peter, as he reached over to spin the spinner.

“Left foot, red.”

Peter tilted his head to look at the mat and smiled, “fuck.”

As he moved his foot, the paint underneath his other foot made him slip, Peter falling in the paper and losing the game. He laughed and smeared green paint on his forehead as he went to fix his glasses, Wade chuckling and adjusting his position on top of Peter.

“That was fun,” He said bringing his lips to Peters. The kiss was chaste and quick, Peter nodding his head.

“Should try it again some time,” Peter leaned up and kissed Wade again, holding the kiss longer than before. Wade slipped his tongue into Peter’s mouth making him moan, his hand sliding up and smearing green on Wade’s neck.

The kiss grew in heat and before long, Wade was moving the both of them up in an attempts to move them to the shower so they could roll around in the sheets till the wee hours of the morning, but Peter had other plans. Repositioning himself straddling Wade, Peter kissed his lover and slowly started moving his hips, aligning their cocks and grinding. Wade moaned into Peter’s mouth and let Peter do what he wanted, Wade not holding him back from anything.

Wade felt his back meet the paper on the floor, arching into Peter making as many fingerprints on his body as there were on the canvas. Peter reached over and wiped most of the paint off his right hand and pumped lotion into it, grabbing both of their cocks and stroking them together.

“Mmmfuck,” Wade groaned, his hips rotating with Peter’s long strokes. 

Wade’s hand ran over the paper and grabbed at Peter’s ass, kneading the skin and teasing his hole with a clean finger. Peter moaned and breathed hotly into Wade’s neck, his chin dipping into the now teal paint. Wade massaged Peter’s whole and stuck the tip of his finger inside, slowly fucking Peter open.

A string of half coherent words tumbled out of Peter but when he started jerking faster, Wade’s name was the only thing he could say.

“Cum for me baby. Let me see you cum for me.” 

Peter’s legs started shaking as he felt his climax inching closer, putting his body weight on the floor and Wade alike. 

“Fuck Wade,” Peter moaned as he moved up to kiss Wade. It was messy, the two shakily breathing into each other. Wade felt the wave of ecstasy and pleasure that washed over Peter’s whole body, Wade’s free hand stroking Peter through his climax. Cum leaked onto both their stomachs and mixed with the paint but at that point they were both too messy to care. Peter’s body went boneless as he came back down and planted butterfly kisses on Wade’s jaw, making his way back to his mouth.

Peter looked so blissed out and beautiful, his glasses very askew on his face, Wade wanted to take a picture then fuck him till he couldn’t walk the next day. He smiled and crawled down Wade’s body, slipping his hard cock into his mouth.

Immediately Wade’s fingers grasped Peter’s hair as he slide into the heat of Peter’s tongue circling the head and sucking down his shaft. Wade could hardly give a warning as Peter swallowed him all the way down, his head hitting the back of Peter’s throat. He was far too good at that.

He took everything Wade gave him, sucking him through the orgasm, cum and incoherent babbling alike.

Crawling back up, he kissed Wade again, Wade dizzily tasting himself on Peter’s tongue. The two slowly got up and danced to the hot shower, stumbling into the fluffy sheets with tingling skin.

 

* * *

 

In the morning, Peter woke up to an empty bed and music streaming from the kitchen. He grabbed a shirt, one of Wade’s but that may or may not have been on purpose. Walking into the living room he found the remains of the night before, all color and love and beauty. He quietly put all the paints back into his crate and listened as Wade tried to sing along to whatever was playing.

Walking into the kitchen, he wrapped his arms around Wade’s waist and placed a small kiss at the nape of his neck.

“Good Morning lovely. What do you plan on doing with what we did last night?” Wade asked, spinning around in Peter’s grip.

“Mmm,” Peter pretended to think very hard. “I think imma put it ‘n a museum.”

“A what?!”

“Which means it’ll be ‘n a collection. Which means we’ll be doin that a lot more often,” he smiled up and Wade and winked.

Wade smiled and kissed Peter’s scalp. “That I am completely okay with.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me [here](http://queersunflowers.tumblr.com/) on tumblr.


End file.
